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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28325955">Christmas With The Brewers</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/resilient_rose/pseuds/resilient_rose'>resilient_rose</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Schitt's Creek Holiday Collection [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Schitt's Creek</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 17:35:11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>12,587</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28325955</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/resilient_rose/pseuds/resilient_rose</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>David and Patrick spend their first Christmas as husbands with Patrick's family. Silliness, fluff, and snowballs ensue.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Patrick Brewer/David Rose</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Schitt's Creek Holiday Collection [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2091165</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>41</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>139</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I wrote this instead of cooking Christmas dinner. NO REGRETS.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Will there be a fire to sit by?” David asks, sleepy in the passenger’s seat as Patrick drives the last stretch toward his hometown.</p><p>Patrick leans to see under the fog on the windshield. “Yep.”</p><p>David thumbs over his knee and adds in a mumble, “And eggnog?”</p><p>“By the gallon,” Patrick assures him, slowing down on a patch of ice.</p><p>David nods and a smile drifts on his lips. He reaches to pull Patrick’s hand from the wheel and tangles their fingers, half-asleep. </p><p>He should have slept more last night, but he found himself awake, imagining Patrick’s childhood home; he was excited to see it and this kept him up. Pretty silly to stay awake out of happiness, pace the kitchen with a musing smile and eat two containers of yogurt, but he couldn’t help it.</p><p>Patrick showed up an hour into his reverie, bleary and confused. </p><p>
  <em> Why aren’t you in bed? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Because I’m excited because I get to see where you grew up-- is that weird? </em>
</p><p>Patrick’s expression told him it wasn’t weird. That it was sweet. Unexpected, so all the sweeter. David nodded, reassured, and finished his yogurt. Then he went back to bed with Patrick, only twenty minutes before their alarm rang.</p><p>“You gonna make it?” checks Patrick, amused.</p><p>“Mm?”</p><p>Patrick reaches to shake his leg. “David. C’mon. We’re ten minutes away.”</p><p>“Okay.” David drifts, then forces himself to sit up and nod. “Okay.” He rubs his face hard and breathes in. “Yes. Awake, I’m awake.” He blinks, looking into the dark trees, then at Patrick. “Where the fuck are we?”</p><p>“Almost there.”</p><p>“I thought you said they lived in a town with like, a bank. And a grocery store.”</p><p>Patrick turns a corner, revealing the main street of a small town, not unlike their own. </p><p>David presses his lips together. “Mhm.”</p><p>“Hey, there’s the bank.”</p><p>“Okay,” says David, annoyed but affectionate, turning to stare his husband down. “You can’t blame me for not wanting to repeat our last…” He gestures as if shaking something icky from his hand. “Wilderness experience.” </p><p>“Are you referring to our honeymoon?”</p><p>“Yes,” says David, very soft.</p><p>He would say more, but he spots the diner that Patrick used to study at and he softens. He described it well -- blue neon, too many posters, a rusty bike rack out front. Then they pass the elementary school, nondescript brick, one story; he recognizes the oak tree that Patrick fell out of when he was nine and smiles to himself. Patrick turns a corner, passing the Shop ‘n Save, then the city hall, which has a massive moose statue out front. Someone strung the antlers with Christmas lights and ornaments, topped it with a life-sized Santa, and surrounded it with several decked-out snowmen.</p><p>“Subtle,” says David.</p><p>Patrick chuckles. “Yeah. It started with the lights and got bigger every year. Kind of a tradition. All the kids come out on the first Saturday in December and just bring what they’ve got from home.”</p><p>David glances at him, smiling, and thumbs over his palm. “Would you do that as a kid?”</p><p>“Yeah, with my cousins. We’d always try to climb the moose. Whoever got to the top first got the first swing at the Christmas piñata.”</p><p>David raises his brows. “Oh, the Christmas piñata.”</p><p>“My aunt would always handmake one,” says Patrick. “I’m sure my mom has pictures because they were…” He pauses as he turns onto a narrow dirt road. “...one of a kind.”</p><p>David nods, sure this is his husband’s polite way of saying <em>horrible</em>. “Mhm. How did that tradition start?”</p><p>“My aunt saw the idea in <em> Good Housekeeping </em>in 1979 and it stuck.” He smiles and shrugs. “Good way for all the kids to burn up energy.”</p><p>“How many of there were you again…?”</p><p>He turns onto an even skinnier road and the branches brush the car. “Oh, about twenty.”</p><p>David wrinkles his nose. “My God. Okay, remind me...”</p><p>“So Cara--”</p><p>“Your mom’s sister.”</p><p>“Right. She had Connor, Sean, Liam, Aidan, and Ronan.”</p><p>“That’s too many,” mumbles David, leaning his head back. “And you’re close with Sean and Liam.”</p><p>“Yep. And then my dad’s sister--”</p><p>“Bridget,” recalls David. </p><p>“Yeah, she had Ryan, Keegan, Kelly, and Alana.”</p><p>“And you always played with...Kelly?”</p><p>“Alana.”</p><p>“Fuck. Alana. Okay.” </p><p>Patrick glances at him with a slight smile. “It’s nice you remember any of this, David.”</p><p>“Um, of course I remember, you’re my husband.”</p><p>Patrick’s smile brightens and he chuckles. Then he leans across the console to kiss him. “I love you.”</p><p>David laughs, smiling too. “Eyes on the road. I love you too.”</p><p>Patrick moves his hand to David’s knee and squeezes it, then slows as the snow builds up on the unplowed road. After a moment, he murmurs, “Okay, right up here…”</p><p>David leans forward, holding his breath as a two-story house emerges in the trees. The roof is lined with warm white lights and the path to the porch has been recently shoveled; there’s a huge tree glittering within and several sparkly reindeer on the lawn. He smiles, then looks at Patrick and softens at his expression.</p><p>He hasn’t been here in years and it shows. He’s suddenly bursting.</p><p>David rubs his hand, smiling harder, and he shuts the car off. He catches David’s gaze, about to speak, but the front door flies open before he can. </p><p>Marcy pokes her head out. Her expression transforms in excitement and she waves hurriedly for Clint.</p><p>“They’re here! Clint, they’re here!” she shouts.</p><p>They can hear her all the way in the car. Patrick chuckles, shaking his head, and gets out of the car with David, who immediately slides on the ice and swears.</p><p>“It’s icy!” calls Marcy, hurrying across the drive in her slippers. </p><p>She throws her arms around Patrick and sways. “Oh, it’s so good to see you! You look so happy...”</p><p>David pieces his way around the car to join them and Marcy smiles, turning to hug him too. It’s a more forceful hug than he was expecting from a 68-year-old and he pops his brows.</p><p>“Oh, okay! Um--”</p><p>“You’re so tall,” she says fondly.</p><p>“I’m not--”</p><p>“Marcy!” calls Clint, laughing. “Let them in before you all freeze!”</p><p>She nods, pulling back, and Patrick takes two suitcases and his guitar from the trunk. </p><p>“Oh, let me help--”</p><p>“No, mom. David?”</p><p>David gestures at the ice, moving away from the car. “I’m already going to have enough trouble not falling, so…”</p><p>Patrick picks up both bags and his guitar. “There’s that Christmas spirit.”</p><p>David smirks, amused, and walks alongside Marcy. “So. Your house is beautiful.”</p><p>“Oh, thank you, David. We called Sean to do the lights. We’ve skipped them the last few years because Patrick hasn’t been here, but this year’s special.” She smiles. “How was the drive?”</p><p>“Relaxing because I wasn’t the one driving.”</p><p>She laughs and nods. They reach the door and Clint smiles hard. He shakes David’s hand, then pulls him into a firm, unexpected hug. </p><p>“Oh-kay, lots of hugging,” says David, eyeing Patrick over Clint’s shoulder.</p><p>Patrick sets their stuff on a bench in the entryway. “Don’t scare him away guys…”</p><p>Marcy laughs. “Oh, pff. It’s been too long!”</p><p>“Three months,” Patrick reminds them. </p><p>“Well, it felt longer,” she tells him. “It only flew by for you because you were on your honeymoon half the time.”</p><p>“Actually,” says David, “our honeymoon was very lowkey because, despite our best efforts to get to the Maldives, we ended up in--”</p><p>“Canada, yes, they know that, David,” says Patrick. </p><p>“Well, I like to remind people that we did <em> try </em> to get there...”</p><p>“We did,” agrees Patrick. “It was too expensive.”</p><p>“Oh well,” says Marcy, shutting the door. “There are more important things to spend money on.” Then she smirks. “I’m sure you enjoyed each other’s company anyway--”</p><p>“Mom.”</p><p>She winks. David’s mouth curves into a scandalized, delighted frown, and he pops his brows at his husband, who shakes his head with a laugh.</p><p>“Marcy, don’t tease them,” chuckles Clint, then gestures into the living room, “Go on and get warm by the fire, we’ll get drinks -- what would you like?”</p><p>David smiles, a bit unbalanced from the attention. “Oh, that’s very nice of you, um -- I will take a whiskey.”</p><p>Clint points at him, glancing at Patrick. “I like him.” He adds to David, “I have a great single malt from ‘54.”</p><p>“Oh my God, okay, um. Yes please.”</p><p>“I’ll have one too,” Patrick says, taking their bags off the bench and adding to his mom, “is the cottage unlocked?”</p><p>David turns from his examination of the living room, where a table of spectacular appetizers is waiting. Not much in the world could take his attention off those bacon-wrapped pineapple bites, except the prospect of privacy.</p><p>“Cottage?” he asks, instantly flirtatious. </p><p>“Yeah, didn’t I mention that?” asks Patrick. “It’s at the back of the property. We built it for the holidays years ago.”</p><p>“So...so we could...?” David gestures; it’s a vague gesture but it communicates everything to Patrick.</p><p>“Yes, David,” he murmurs, adding after his parents disappear to pour drinks, “could you tone it down?”</p><p>“Um, <em> this </em>is an unexpected gift,” says David, shifting closer to tug on Patrick’s collar. He kisses him. “So no.” He bites his bottom lip, looking into Patrick’s eyes. “Can I help you with those bags now?”</p><p>“If you’ll actually help.”</p><p>“I won’t,” says David, kissing him again.</p><p>Marcy interrupts with two glasses of whiskey. “Drinks?”</p><p>Patrick clears his throat and pulls away, a bit flushed.</p><p>“Yeah, thank you…”</p><p>“Ooh, thank you,” David agrees. </p><p>She holds her finger up. “I’ll be right back, let me put on some music...”</p><p>She leaves again and David looks at Patrick, gesturing with the large glass of booze.</p><p>“So <em> this </em> is a bad idea.”</p><p>Patrick takes a sip of his drink, sets it aside, then takes David’s face in his hands. “David?”</p><p>David’s eyes widen in anticipation. “Yes?”</p><p>“You need to keep it in your pants for <em>one </em>hour. Can you do that?”</p><p>“Um, not if you keep using that tone,” he whispers.</p><p>Patrick laughs, caught off guard, and drops his hands. “You’re impossible.”</p><p>David nods, satisfied. “I know.” Then he looks into the living room. “Do I see potato skins?”</p><p>Patrick takes his hand and tugs him to the couch. Music starts to play and Marcy comes in with some plates. Clint returns with a couple of logs to add to the fire, then insists on taking their bags to the cottage in the back. </p><p>The rest of them sit near the fire. Marcy passes out plates for appetizers. Patrick grins and nabs the nearest artichoke puff, then hands it to David to try.</p><p>“These are the best.”</p><p>David takes a bite “OhmyGod--” He stares at Marcy. “Can I have this recipe?”</p><p>“Oh, of course, do you like to cook?”</p><p>“No, but Patrick does, and he’ll be making these several times a week.”</p><p>Patrick laughs. Clint returns after a few minutes, and soon they’re all chatting about the food, sipping whiskey, relaxing by the fire as a classic album plays from the kitchen. </p><p>David spends most of the time staring at Patrick, who’s completely at ease, describing occurrences from their life together -- expanding the store, remodeling their house, visiting Alexis in New York. David listens with a soft, serene smile, talking less than usual, one hand squeezing Patrick’s leg.</p><p>“--so I don’t think we’ll be doing that again.”</p><p>Patrick’s in the middle of a story about a honeymoon misadventure in a seaplane.</p><p>“No,” agrees David, stealing a cheese-salami pinwheel from the appetizer table. “No, we won’t be, when he said <em> plane </em> I was picturing something larger.”</p><p>“So was I,” admits Patrick.</p><p>“We had to weigh ourselves before getting on the plane,” says David. “<em>Weigh </em> ourselves so we didn’t crash.”</p><p>“Oh, of course,” says Marcy. “All those tiny planes make you do that. </p><p>“I was wondering why you didn’t fly here,” says Clint.</p><p>David frowns as he eats an olive. “There’s an airport <em> here </em>?”</p><p>“It would have been a tiny plane, David,” says Patrick, patting his leg before getting up to tend the fire.</p><p>David shakes his head at the memory. “I am <em>terrified </em>of heights. And he knows that. Yet he put me on a plane like that.”</p><p>“Should have done more research,” says Patrick. “It was worth it to get to that resort though.”</p><p>David glances at him. Everything he wants to say absolutely cannot be said in front of his in-laws, so he settles for a slight smirk. </p><p>“My brother used to pilot those planes,” says Clint. “Up north in Fort Severn. Remember that trip, Marcy?”</p><p>“Remember it?” laughs Marcy. “It was forty below, I don’t know what we were thinking. It was one thing for <em>us </em>to risk our lives, but poor Patrick. He was only eleven!”</p><p>“We saw polar bears,” Patrick says to David.</p><p>David gestures with his whiskey, disturbed. “Um, <em> why </em> were you that far north?”</p><p>“Family trip,” says Patrick.</p><p>“So this...this was fun for you?”</p><p>“Not when the plane was sliding off the runway.”</p><p>Marcy chuckles at the memory and pats her husband’s arm. “And you let Patrick drive that snowmobile!”</p><p>David’s eyes flash in sudden amusement. “When he was eleven?”</p><p>“Oh, everyone learns to drive when they’re young here,” says Clint.</p><p>“So he…” David frowns. “He really could drive when he was 13. I thought that was a joke when he told me.”</p><p>“Well, we didn’t <em> want </em> him driving, but Connor taught him…” Marcy rolls her eyes fondly. “And he kept that a secret until...well…” She chuckles and eyes her son. “I’m sure you’ve told David this story.”</p><p>Patrick takes a sip of whiskey. “The time Sean convinced me to steal the car and drive him up 637 just so we could get Tim Horton’s? Yeah.”</p><p>“Ooh,” teases David. “<em>Yes</em>. That’s the only time you ever got grounded.”</p><p>Marcy sighs. “Imagine getting that call from the police.”</p><p>Clint shrugs. “I was proud they made it as far as they did.”</p><p>“No, Clint. No.”</p><p>“How far did they make it?” asks David, crunching on a cracker with some brie and fig jam.</p><p>“Almost to the highway!” says Marcy. </p><p>“We ran out of gas,” Patrick explains. </p><p>“Mhm. You didn’t think to check that before you took your parents’ car on a joyride?”</p><p>“It wasn’t a joyride, I followed the speed limit.”</p><p>David presses his lips together, very amused. “Only you would steal a car, then follow the speed limit.”</p><p>“I just wanted to get donuts with my cousin.”</p><p>David covers his face and shakes his head with a laugh. “My God. Okay, the only time <em> I </em> got grounded, I was 17, and it was because I traded one of my mom’s wigs for a signed photo of Judy Garland."</p><p>“Surprised you’re still alive,” says Patrick.</p><p>“Mm. I’ve never heard her scream like that. Not <em>at </em>me,” he adds to Marcy and Clint. “Just. At God. In our courtyard.”</p><p>Patrick chuckles. “Did you stay grounded or…?”</p><p>“What?” asks David, reminiscing. “Oh, no. No, of course not. I called my boyfriend and climbed out of my window.”</p><p>Patrick looks at him, surprised, intrigued. “You climbed out your window?”</p><p>David grimaces. “I did, yes. Please don’t picture that.”</p><p>“Oh, too late. Did you climb down the ivy or jump or…?”</p><p>“Um, I kind of, slid? Then hung off the gutter? Then...” He frowns. “Dropped?”</p><p>Patrick opens his mouth. “Oh. David…”</p><p>“Okay,” says David, putting a finger on Patrick’s lips. </p><p>Patrick takes his wrist and moves his hand, unfazed. “Tell me this was when you had that pink streak in your hair.”</p><p>“Does that complete the image for you? Yes, it was.”</p><p>Patrick chuckles richly and David rolls his eyes. </p><p>“<em>Anyway</em>,” he says, reaching for another glazed meatball. “You were saying…”</p><p>“Oh, I was saying you spent the whole plane ride in my lap.”</p><p>“Yes I did,” agrees David. “Literally everything is delicious, by the way.”</p><p>Marcy smiles. “Oh, thank you, David.” She chuckles. “After the food we had at the wedding, I was a bit nervous nothing I made would compare.”</p><p>“Mhm, that’s actually how we chose the food,” says David, going for another pinwheel. “We wanted something unparalleled.” </p><p>“You chose the food, David,” Patrick reminds him. </p><p>“That’s probably for the best,” David says through a bite of cheese. “That day did not bring out the best side of me.”</p><p>Patrick snorts. “Well, Stevie gave me a pretty entertaining blow-by-blow, so.”</p><p>“A what?”</p><p>“It’s a boxing term,” says Patrick, his drink halfway to his mouth. “Detailed description of events.”</p><p>“Well, <em> that </em> term could be dangerously repurposed.”</p><p>Patrick dips his head and nods in defeat, then pats David’s knee and sets his drink aside. He gets up to add a log to the fire, then glances outside as a cover blows off the hot tub in the wind.</p><p>“Oh, Clint, I told you that wouldn’t stay there,” says Marcy.</p><p>Clint sighs and smiles. “Right again, honey.”</p><p>“I’ll help, hang on,” says Patrick, stretching to nab his shoes from under the couch. </p><p>His dad thanks him, tossing him a coat from beside the side door, and they disappear outside into the snow. David watches this, sucking a bit of jam off his finger, and slowly smiles.</p><p>“So,” he says to Marcy. “We have good taste.”</p><p>She laughs, brightening, and nods. “Yes, we do.”</p><p>They watch for a moment as Patrick and his dad struggle with the tarp in the wind. David hums. Between this image and the whiskey, he’s feeling uncharacteristically soft. </p><p>“Okay,” he adds to Marcy, voice lowered to a whisper. “I’ve been promised a picture of the famous Brewer Christmas piñatas…?”</p><p>“Oh,” she mutters. “I don’t know what my sister was thinking with those...yes, hang on…” </p><p>She gets up and takes a photo album off the mantle, then sits beside David on the couch and opens it to the first page. David smirks over a sip of whiskey. He’s going to catalog every embarrassing childhood picture in here so he can mock his husband as soon as they’re alone later. </p><p>“Oh no,” he says instantly, staring at a picture of little Patrick in a fireman costume.</p><p>“Oh good, this is the right album, I have too many…” says Marcy.</p><p>“Mm, tell me about this one,” says David, tapping the picture.</p><p>“Did you ask about the piñatas just so you could find embarrassing pictures?”</p><p>He nods, unashamed. “Yes.”</p><p>Marcy snorts and shakes her head. “Well, he was five, and our shed burned down that summer and he was <em>so </em>impressed by the firefighters. He couldn’t stop talking about them, so naturally, he wanted to be one for Halloween. I had to make the costume, we couldn’t find one anywhere here…”</p><p>“You made that? That’s beautiful.”</p><p>“Thank you!” she says, putting an arm around him and patting his side. “Oh, and this one…” She points at a picture of Patrick with goggles, standing beside a bike, both hands on his hips in an energetic Superman pose. “I...I don’t know why he wanted to wear the goggles when he was learning to ride a bike. I have no idea.”</p><p>David looks closer. “Is that a snorkel?”</p><p>She laughs. “Yes! Like I said, no clue…” </p><p>She turns the page and David presses his hand to his mouth. There’s a picture of Patrick on his Little League team and he looks so serious that David almost snorts; the name of the team doesn’t help -- <em> The SuperSonics</em>.</p><p>“Oh...no,” he murmurs, bursting with affection.</p><p>“He would explain everything to me during the game,” Marcy shares. “He would come up to the bleachers and say <em> Mom, it’s the last inning. Mom, that was a foul</em>. <em> Mom, we only need two more runs. </em> He was 7.”</p><p>“Okay, that does not surprise me,” says David, resting his elbow on his knee. He smiles, tilting his head -- drinking whiskey in his husband’s childhood home and looking at old pictures is a dangerous recipe for emotional overload. He doesn’t care. He laughs. “His expression.”</p><p>“Oh, I know, it was life or death--”</p><p>“Yes, I’ve seen that side of him, I was <em> not </em> prepared for it.”</p><p>She chuckles. “Well, if you think he looks serious there...mm, hold on…” </p><p>She flips to the end of the album and points at a picture of Patrick, about seventeen, in the front lineup of his high school team, leaning on a bat, almost smirking. </p><p>David opens his mouth, almost offended by how confident he looks. “Um.”</p><p>“I know,” says Marcy. “They were the best in the province that year.”</p><p>David shakes his head. Then he touches the photo, smiling, and says, “When we were first starting the store, I didn’t know if he could get us the grants we needed. But he was sure. And this…” He chuckles. “This reminds me of the look he gave me when I wasn’t sure he could get the money.”</p><p>Marcy smiles, leaning her cheek on her hand. “That look makes me happy. As a mom, you know, that look is very meaningful.”</p><p>David glances at her, waiting for her to continue. Her smile wobbles a bit as she reminisces. </p><p>“It’s beautiful when your kid knows what they want, then they go for it. Really go for it.” She looks at him. “I’m sure you know Patrick is very determined. When he makes up his mind, it’s made up. And I knew, when I met you, he had already made his decision about you.” She bumps her arm on his. “He knew you were it.”</p><p>David inhales, eyes brighter than usual. “I know. I knew he was too.”</p><p>She smiles, looking at the album, then at him. “I’m glad you’re here.”</p><p>“Me too,” he says warmly.</p><p>“Oh, the piñatas…” she remembers, flipping back to the first half of the album. She laughs when she finds them. “Good lord, look at those.”</p><p>David’s eyes jump wider and he frowns at the homemade, rainbow-splattered, sparkly...pigs?</p><p>“Are those…?”</p><p>“Oh, pigs, yes, because the neck of the bottle was easy to make into a snout.”</p><p>“That one has a Santa hat…” He makes a face, swishing the last of his whiskey in the bottom of his glass. “So. These will give me nightmares.”</p><p>“One year she filled them with cinnamon rolls.”</p><p>“No,” breathes David.</p><p>Marcy nods, frowning in a loving, long-suffering way. “They came out like this…” She gestures. “In this <em>clump</em>. And all the children stood there like…” </p><p>She makes a shocked, hesitant face and David chuckles and nods. </p><p>“Then Patrick took one of the rolls and threw it at Sean, so…”</p><p>“He started a food fight?” David asks in disbelief. </p><p>“Yes. They were finishing some drama from earlier in the day. I don’t know. Probably something to do with the moose.”</p><p>“Ah, the moose--”</p><p>Patrick and Clint come back in and David glances up. He smiles at Patrick, eyes sparkling, and waits for his inevitable sigh.</p><p>He sighs. “David.”</p><p>“Mm?” David says innocently. “You were very cute in high school--”</p><p>“Okay,” says Patrick, unable to fight his smile. “Thanks so much, mom.”</p><p>“He asked for pictures!”</p><p>David nods. “I did.”</p><p>Patrick hangs his jacket up, then steps closer and pecks David on the mouth. “Did you see the snorkel one?”</p><p>“Yes, what were you thinking?”</p><p>“I don’t know, I was five.”</p><p>David laughs and slides his fingers up his wrist. He wants to tug him close, warm him up, and he hopes his touch conveys this. Patrick’s smile tells him it does.</p><p>“Storm’s getting worse,” Clint says, shaking his hat free from snow. </p><p>“I know!” says Marcy, looking outside before adding to David and Patrick, “You got here just in time!”</p><p>Patrick nods, settling by David, and Marcy teases Clint for trusting the weather report; while they’re distracted, David and Patrick sneak a gentle, grinning kiss, then hold each other closer. The music fades in the kitchen and Marcy directs Clint to change the album out on their old boombox. </p><p>Marcy beams as the music changes, pointing in the direction of the song, and looks at her son.</p><p>“This is the first song you ever learned!”</p><p>He nods. “Yep.”</p><p>Marcy looks at David. “He was eight, he was playing his dad’s guitar, it was too big, but he was so good.”</p><p>Patrick glances at David to refute this and David almost laughs. Then he nudges his husband, expectant, and smirks.</p><p>“Honey,” he says, obnoxious on purpose.</p><p>“Yes, yes,” agrees Marcy, stopping Clint as he tries to sit down. “Shut off the music, Clint, we’re about to have real music…Patrick, where’s your guitar?”</p><p>“Oh, real music, okay…”</p><p>His dad hands him his case and he takes his guitar from it, then looks at David. David gestures impatiently, smiling, and Patrick shakes his head as his fingers find the right chords. Marcy nods, grinning, and he gestures to give her the floor.</p><p>“<em>Chestnuts roasting on an open fire, </em>” she starts.</p><p>He smiles and continues, “<em>Jack Frost nipping at your nose…”  </em></p><p>Then she nudges David. </p><p>“Oh, no, no.” He finishes his drink. “I’m your audience.”</p><p>Patrick continues, unsurprised. “<em>Yuletide carols being sung by a choir...” </em></p><p>David tries not to smile, but he can’t help it. He looks away as Clint joins in on the next few lines, then gestures in loving disbelief as his husband’s family sings a rollicking cover of <em> The Christmas Song</em>. </p><p><em> “And so I’m offering this simple phrase…” </em> Patrick sings at the end, tilting his head as he loses himself in the harmonies. “ <em> From kids to one to ninety-two…. </em>”David smirks. “Ooh, the cut-off age for Christmas joy--”</p><p>Patrick laughs. “David.” He recovers. “<em> Although it’s been said...many times, many ways…” </em></p><p>Marcy elbows David and he rolls his eyes, joining in on “<em> Merry Christmas….Merry Christmas...to you.” </em></p><p>Patrick smiles at him, finishing the song with a lingering, trembling chord. David shakes his head, overwhelmed, and they share a soft, specific, gaze -- the one they used to exchange in the store before they were ever together. That infatuated, ineffable <em> God I love you </em>look<em>. </em> </p><p>Then they glance down, hands almost brushing. They stay here for another hour, talking to his parents, pressing closer in front of the dying fire. Patrick plays a few more songs and David listens to his parents tell old stories with a faint, firm smile.</p><p>They drift toward the cottage at half-past ten, making their way by the porch light from the main house. David leans on Patrick, exhausted but smiling, and they go inside. It’s warm and smells faintly like fire smoke; he’s surprised by the consistent decor -- white furniture, a wood stove, exposed brick, lots of throw blankets.</p><p>“Did your mom pick all this?”</p><p>“Yeah, the Brewers aren’t totally incapable of an aesthetic.”</p><p>David continues inside, fingers floating along the back of the sofa. Patrick checks the woodstove, adjusts one of the vents, then moves with David to the tiny bedroom. </p><p>David turns. “Can we live here?”</p><p>Patrick laughs, pulling him into a kiss. “Sure.”</p><p>David smiles on his mouth, tugging him a bit closer, and then they pause, linger, bump noses while the snow swirls outside.</p><p>“Okay, I know I said I wanted to spend this Christmas with just you, but…”</p><p>Patrick waits, running his hands up David’s chest and over his shoulders. David meets his eyes with a soft smirk.</p><p>“But this isn’t the worst night I’ve ever had.”</p><p>Patrick nods. “High praise.”</p><p>David laughs. “I like your parents. A lot.”</p><p>“They like you too.”</p><p>David wrinkles his nose. “How did that happen?”</p><p>“They know how happy you make me,” says Patrick. </p><p>David draws a line up his chest. “Mm, speaking of making you happy, I am <em> way </em> too tired to do that now.”</p><p>Patrick laughs and presses closer, wrapping his arms around his neck; he leans into him and they drift as they hold each other.</p><p>“So am I.” He tucks his face into David’s neck and kisses him under his jaw, then softens against him. “I love you.”</p><p>David hugs him closer. “I love you too.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> The Next Morning </em>
</p><p>“Mm...mhm--”</p><p>A laugh, a brush of fingers on skin, stubble scratching his neck.</p><p>Patrick mumbles on his lips. “We should get up--”</p><p>“Mm, no,” says David, still on top of him, kissing him as they come down.</p><p>“Love it when you wake me up like this…”</p><p>David hums in response, shifting to kiss his neck, his collarbone. They stay here as light streams in from the window; it’s sunny, bright white and crisp, and the snowy woods are silent save for a few chattering jays.</p><p>“I think...we should stay here…all day...”</p><p>Patrick pulls him back for another lazy kiss. David smiles on his lips, his silver chain grazing his chest as it dangles. </p><p>“And I think...we’re already late…” murmurs Patrick, sliding his hands down David’s sides. He tilts his head so the kiss deepens, then moans. “Mmm-David…”</p><p>David breaks the kiss to chuckle. Patrick opens his eyes, looks at him, and they both smile as sunlight shifts over them.</p><p>“Mm.” David blinks, still a little dazed. He repositions so he can rest his head on Patrick’s chest. “One more hour…”</p><p>“It’s eight...”</p><p>“Mm, yes, this is the <em> only </em> thing I’m willing to wake up that early for…”</p><p>Patrick puts his hand through his hair. “Eight isn’t early, David.”</p><p>David nuzzles him, brushing his fingers down his sweaty chest; he closes his eyes, lips twitching, mind still lit up with little fireworks. He breathes in deeply, meditating on the starchy scent of the sheets, on Patrick’s pulse.</p><p>“No, it’s so early,” he finally mumbles.</p><p>“It’s not, and we still need to shower…”</p><p>“Do we?”</p><p>“Think so, at least I do, I have you all over me--”</p><p>David interrupts with a laugh, thumb brushing over one of his nipples. “Mhm. Can I shower with you?”</p><p>“Pretty sure we don’t have time for round 3--”</p><p>“Is it 3 or 4?”</p><p>Patrick slips his fingers over David’s jaw. “Now I can’t remember.”</p><p>David grins. Then someone knocks on the door and David groans in protest. </p><p>“I have popovers!” Marcy calls from outside.</p><p>“Oh my God…”</p><p>“Popovers,” Patrick coaxes. “You love popovers.”</p><p>“Mm well, there’s something else I want to put in my mouth right now--”</p><p>“Okay,” says Patrick, nudging him. “Up you go…”</p><p>David gives him a look of utter betrayal and defiance, then yanks a fluffy black robe off the chair by the bed.</p><p>Marcy knocks again. “Anyone home?”</p><p>David rubs his face, ties the robe tight, and wanders to the front door to open it. Marcy is bundled up, face nearly obscured by a bright blue hat.</p><p>“<em>Hi</em>, we’re going to need a few minutes--” He pauses at the basket of beautiful, still-steaming popovers. “Those look amazing.”</p><p>“Oh, these are just the extras, there’s more inside -- can you tell Patrick his cousins are here?”</p><p>“Oh, the <em> cousins </em> are here, yes, mm…” He hears the shower turn on in the background. “<em>Which </em> cousins?”</p><p>“Oh, most of ‘em.”</p><p>He raises his brows, trying to mask his horrified expression. “Mhm. Even the. The tiny ones.”</p><p>“Patrick mentioned you’re not a big fan of children.”</p><p>“Don’t love them, no.”</p><p>“Well, you’ll like these ones,” Marcy says cheerfully. </p><p>David nods, pressing his lips together. “Okay, mm -- we will be there -- soon.”</p><p>She chuckles. “Hope you got <em> some </em> sleep.”</p><p>His eyes widen and he steps back inside. “Yes! Yes we did! Thank you for your concern!”</p><p>She gives him two thumbs-ups, then turns to walk back down the snowy path to the main house. He lingers in the chilly doorway, frowning to himself, then returns inside.</p><p>“Your cousins are here!” he yells.</p><p>“Which ones?”</p><p>“A lot of them! At eight in the morning! On Christmas Eve! Because God forbid I get to sleep in with my husband!”</p><p>“Pull it together, David!”</p><p>David fights a smile, rolls his eyes, then goes into their bedroom to pick out an outfit. Patrick returns from the shower after twenty minutes, then wanders around the cottage in his boxers, eating a popover and tidying up.</p><p>“Could you make this any harder on me?” David asks, gesturing at him as he arranges his rings on his fingers.</p><p>“Well, I could make one thing harder,” says Patrick, searching for a pair of jeans.</p><p>David tips his head back in annoyance.</p><p>Patrick smirks, pulling a dark blue sweater from his suitcase. “But, as I said, no time for that.”</p><p>David sits on the bed to put on a pair of leather boots. “I think you enjoy this.”</p><p>“Oh, I do,” says Patrick, unabashed. </p><p>They finish getting dressed, eat several more popovers, and finally leave the cottage. It’s colder today, but calm, and the new snow squeaks under their boots as they walk arm-in-arm toward the main house. David’s expression grows increasingly pained as Patrick describes a typical Brewer Christmas Eve. It sounds <em> very </em> physically taxing.</p><p>“--then ice-fishing, but we’ll skip that so you don’t file for divorce--”</p><p>“Yes, thank you.”</p><p>“And then we’ll do a bonfire by the lake. Pretty fun, right?”</p><p>“Mhm--” </p><p>David stops as a child runs in front of them. The child pauses, stares, then continues on her way, screaming, “Maaamaaaa found theeemm!”</p><p>“Which one...which one is that?”</p><p>“No idea,” Patrick says.</p><p>A woman appears around the corner of the house. She’s short, dressed in an emerald green coat, curly blonde hair peeking out from under a matching beret. </p><p>She shouts in delight, rushing forward. “Oh my God! Patrick!” She slams into him and hugs him like he just returned from the front lines. “Oh, you look great, it’s been <em> way </em> too long!” She pulls back, holding his shoulders, and stares at him. “Wow, I can’t believe it’s actually you--"</p><p>David steps a little closer. “Um, hi?” </p><p>“David!” she yells, then hugs him too. “I’m Alana -- you might have met my daughter, she ran back here like a chimp escaping the zoo -- never have children -- hi, oh, it’s so good to finally meet you! I would have been at the wedding but I just had a baby and Patrick said bringing a newborn would have put me on your shit list forever, so--” She pauses to shout, “Anna? Where are you? Sorry. Can’t have her fall in the well again--”</p><p>David looks at Patrick in concern, then freezes as a snowball smacks Patrick in the side of the head. Snickers echo from the trees nearby and David turns. He expects children to dash out, but two grown men step out instead. </p><p>Patrick sighs. “Really funny guys.”</p><p>“We were aiming for David!” one of them shouts.</p><p>“Oh, in that case, you’re very lucky you missed,” Patrick mumbles, wiping the snow out of his hair as they approach.</p><p>Alana chuckles. “That’s Liam in red, Sean in black, they’re twins so you have to go by color.”</p><p>“Actually I’m Liam,” one of them says.</p><p>“And I’m Sean,” says the other.</p><p>She sighs. “Sorry, so <em> that’s </em>Liam--”</p><p>“Heh! Only joking. I am Sean.”</p><p>Alana punches him hard in the arm. “God! Okay, Sean, Liam, this is David--”</p><p>“My God,” says David, stepping forward to shake Sean and Liam’s hands. “<em> Hi </em>. You’re the ones I’ve heard so many horrifying stories about.”</p><p>“Yah, sure thing.”</p><p>“No doubt, no doubt.”</p><p>David frowns and glances at Patrick for assistance, but before anyone can speak, a little girl runs up to them and hangs on Alana’s coat. Alana raises her brows.</p><p>“What is it, honey?”</p><p>The girl gives a gap-toothed grin and throws her arms in the air. Alana sighs and picks her up, balancing her on her hip. “This is Anna. I left Felix at home with Kit because--”</p><p>“I HAVE TO PEE!” Anna interrupts. </p><p>“--because he’s got colic, which is the <em> worst </em>--”</p><p>David grimaces, losing track of the conversation, unsure what to do with his hands or his face. He was having a good morning. He was having a <em> very </em> good morning and now he’s standing in the snow with relative strangers, talking about colic.</p><p>“You good, dude?” checks Sean. “Your face is doing some things.”</p><p>“Yeah, he’s fine, that’s just David’s face,” says Patrick.</p><p>“Dude?” breathes David.</p><p>“Okay,” says Patrick, putting an arm around him. “I think we’ll grab some breakfast while he adjusts.”</p><p>“Enjoy!” yells Alana.</p><p>David glances at Patrick as they continue into the house.</p><p>“Um. Are they all Aries or…?” He stops when he notices the elaborate breakfast spread on the kitchen table. “When does your mom wake up to do this?”</p><p>“Usually five,” says Patrick, adding, “and no, they’re the lowkey ones in the family.”</p><p>David covers his face, already exhausted. “Okay. Are any of those drinks alcoholic?”</p><p>Patrick picks up a bloody mary from the table, tries it, and hands it over, “Yep.”</p><p>“Thank fucking God,” says David, sipping it.</p><p>Patrick picks up a plate and starts to gather different foods. “I have a question.”</p><p>“Mm, so do I. Many.”</p><p>“How are you <em> this </em> strung out after coming that many times?” </p><p>“Wow, not the question I was expecting, and I don’t know, but if you want to mellow me out again--”</p><p>“David, nothing mellows you out.”</p><p>“Massages do.”</p><p>“Haa--”</p><p>David smirks, gently hip-checking him, and takes a plate from the table. They spend an hour inside, eating by the fire while cousins, aunts, and uncles filter in and out. Patrick’s family is so large, and so genetically consistent, that everyone is a blur in David’s mind, an unending stream of blonde- and ruby-haired Irish-Canadians, all <em> far </em>too energetic.</p><p>“Am I having a stroke?” he says after a while, musing over a bite of toast.</p><p>Patrick rubs his back. “Nope.” He waves at <em> another </em> cousin and adds, “It’s about time for the snowball fight.”</p><p>“I’ll be watching that from the safety of the porch.”</p><p>Patrick chuckles. “Huh, wouldn’t assume the porch is safe if I were you--” His phone buzzes and he glances at it, then snorts. “Stevie says I’m supposed to go easy on you.”</p><p>“Yes, I texted her to send an emergency helicopter,” David says with dead eyes.</p><p>Marcy ducks in, wearing a Santa hat, and beams. “Ah, there you are! Hiding out! Liam says he has something to show you.”</p><p>“Not falling for that,” says Patrick, but he gets up. “C’mon David--”</p><p>David steels himself and gets up too. He puts his coat and hat on, grabs his drink (his second) and follows Patrick dutifully to the porch. He stops, open-mouthed, at the scene before him -- about twenty Brewers on the front lawn, divided into teams, already amassing snowballs in ammo piles.</p><p>“I am only doing this because I’m your husband.”</p><p>“Aw, I thought you were doing this because you love me.”</p><p>“No, it’s the legal obligation I have to you because this…” He gestures. “This exceeds boyfriend duty. This is <em> strictly </em> in husband territory.”</p><p>“I thought you were just going to watch,” says Patrick.</p><p>“Oh, I am. That’s what I mean. Just watching <em> is </em> me doing my husbandly duty.”</p><p>“Don’t love that phrase.”</p><p>“No, I hated it when I said it.”</p><p>They start to laugh, then a snowball strikes David in the leg.</p><p>“No!” he shouts, at no one in particular. “No, absolutely not, I am the--” He looks at Patrick for help. “What’s the word?”</p><p>“Oh my God, David. Ref?”</p><p>“The ref! You do not get to snowball the ref!”</p><p>Several of the Brewers grin, give thumbs up, and shout various hellos and nuptial congratulations.</p><p>“Hey, we’ve never had a ref!” one of them calls.</p><p>The others join in. “Yeah, ref!”</p><p>“Ref, ref, ref!!”</p><p>“But what are the rules?”</p><p>“No headshots” shouts Patrick. “You get hit, you’re out, but you can still hit other people! Everybody clear? Okay, let’s GO, people!”</p><p>
  <em>Oh my God, it’s a winter version of Baseball Patrick. </em>
</p><p>Patrick turns to David, grabs his face, and kisses him. “If I don’t come back, just know that I love you--”</p><p>David pushes him away. “Please go.”</p><p>He grins, jaunty, and jogs down the steps. David hugs himself, staring after him, and shakes his head. Then he glances to his left and finds that Clint has joined him, holding two mugs of coffee.</p><p>“You’re not playing?” he asks Clint.</p><p>“Eh, too old for this,” he says, giving him one of the mugs. </p><p>David sips it, finds that it’s half-whiskey, then murmurs, “Does everyone just drink all day or…?”</p><p>“It’s Christmas Eve!”</p><p>David almost laughs. “Okay. I just. I thought more of you would be like Patrick.”</p><p>“How so?”</p><p>“Oh, calm, collected, not…barbaric…”</p><p>“Ah, well, this is mostly my wife’s side of the family, so good luck finding that--”</p><p>“Clint!” Marcy scolds, stepping outside with them. “He’s right, though…”</p><p>Liam slugs a giant snowball across the field.</p><p>“FALSE START!” shouts Patrick. He turns. “Hey, David, aren’t you refereeing?” </p><p>David gestures in annoyance. “What the fuck is a false start?”</p><p>“New plan!” calls Patrick. “No rules! Starting in three, two--”</p><p>Snowball chaos ensues. David almost jumps at the ferocity all of them display. It’s like they waited for this snowball fight all year. Practiced for it. <em> Trained</em>. </p><p>“This is terrifying,” he says flatly.</p><p>He steps back, dodging a stray snowball, and grimaces as Patrick ducks, scoops up two snowballs, and throws them with perfect, deadly pitcher-form at one of his cousins. He yells in victory when the other guy staggers back.</p><p>“Um. Jesus.”</p><p>“I call that excessive celebration,” jokes Marcy.</p><p>“Um, foul! Excessive -- excessive celebration!” David shouts at Patrick. </p><p>Patrick turns in surprise, about to retort. Then a snowball grazes his arm and he stares at the culprit -- Sean -- and picks up a snowball of his own.</p><p>Marcy chuckles. “Ooh, uh oh…”</p><p>Patrick jumps onto a snowy picnic table, then lifts himself into the nearest pine tree, staging an aerial attack. David gestures in disbelief. His husband <em> does </em> have nice arms, but he didn’t know they were quite capable of that. He watches as a few snowballs rain down from the tree, blitzing Sean. </p><p>Another victory shout. David winces and drinks some coffee.</p><p>“Mhm, see, this is what happens at the end of the season when his team is down one game--”</p><p>David stops as Patrick drops out of the tree. He sprints for the woods with two of his cousins and the next moment happens in slow motion. Sean, intent on revenge, packs a snowball tight in his hand and creeps behind a tree. Patrick, thinking the coast is clear, attempts to run from one tree to another. It appears Patrick isn’t the only one with expert aim, because Sean’s snowball finds its mark.</p><p>That mark, unfortunately, is Patrick’s face. </p><p>He hunches over in pain and David holds still, waiting for him to recover. Then he notices his nose is dripping blood. Gushing, actually. Like a faucet.</p><p>David pushes his mug into Marcy’s hands. “Oh my God -- oh -- oh my God--”</p><p>He rushes down the stairs and across the snowy lawn. He shoves Sean out of the way and takes Patrick in his arms while his cousins look on.</p><p>“Oh my God, honey, honey are you--”</p><p>“Mm David, not good--”</p><p>“Okay. Um.” </p><p>Patrick straightens up and feels over his nose. David grimaces, taking off his scarf, and offers it to Patrick.</p><p>“Ooh, my bad man!” Sean calls. “Is it broken?</p><p>David turns, incredulous and annoyed, and Patrick squeezes his arm so he doesn’t say something unforgivably un-Christmassy. </p><p>“<em>Is </em>it broken?” he murmurs, pressing closer. “Oh, your beautiful nose…honey, let me see…”</p><p>Patrick manages a laugh. “You’re right, this is beyond boyfriend duty…”</p><p>“So beyond,” agrees David, gently touching his nose.</p><p>Patrick winces but the bone feels intact. </p><p>“Okay, as someone who broke his nose, I can tell you confidently that you did not break yours.”</p><p>“You sure?"</p><p>“Very.”</p><p>He nods, holding David’s scarf to his face. “Thanks, Sean--”</p><p>“Any time, man.”</p><p>“You’re on very thin ice,” David informs Sean.</p><p>Sean grins, nods, and turns to the others. “Carry on! He’s fine!”</p><p>Everyone cheers and calls well-wishes at Patrick as David helps him off the lawn. Marcy and Clint crowd him, concerned.</p><p>“Wouldn’t be a Brewer Christmas without this I’m afraid,” says Marcy.</p><p>“Without what? Attempted sobrinicide?” asks David, helping Patrick inside. “We’ll be back when this --” He gestures at the field. “--is long over.”</p><p>Patrick leans on him and they go inside, headed for the nearest bathroom. </p><p>“Are you sure it’s not broken?” mumbles Patrick.</p><p>“Yes,” David says, shutting the door. </p><p>Patrick lifts himself onto the counter so he’s taller. David pulls his scarf down from his face and looks closely at him.</p><p>“You don’t do well with blood, David…”</p><p>“Um, no, but you’re my husband, so…” He grimaces. “Where’s a cloth?”</p><p>Patrick points blindly at a cabinet and David takes out a washcloth, then wets it with some warm water. He gently dabs the blood off Patrick’s lips.</p><p>Patrick smiles. “I love you so much--”</p><p>“Don’t move your lips.”</p><p>“Mhm, yes Doctor Rose--”</p><p>David puts his index finger on Patrick’s lips. “No. No talking. No flirting.”</p><p>Patrick stays quiet while David cleans him up, eyes soft and sparkling with affection. David tries not to smile, but by the time he’s done, he’s almost grinning.</p><p>“Thank you,” murmurs Patrick.</p><p>“Mhm. Do you want an ice pack? Advil?”</p><p>“I think I’m alright…my fault anyway, I said no rules…”</p><p>David nods and looks at his scarf -- dove-grey cashmere, now indelibly stained -- and glances at his husband with a faint, fond smirk.</p><p>“Now I really know you love me,” Patrick jokes.</p><p>“Yes. I got this in Milan.”</p><p>Patrick chuckles, then tries to kiss him, but flinches. “Okay, not doing that for a while…”</p><p>David tilts his head so he can kiss him without nose-on-nose contact. “There. I love you. Are you alright?”</p><p>Patrick nods, tugging him closer by his jacket for another kiss. “Now we’ve only got the sledding, the hockey game, and the bonfire…”</p><p>“I don’t understand you,” David murmurs into a final kiss.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>They spend the next two hours inside, watching his cousins and their children build snowmen from a couch by the window. They sip hot chocolate and schnapps, snuggling as a Bing Crosby album plays on a loop from the other room. David can tell Patrick is restless to get back outside, but he keeps him on the couch, occasionally checking his nose.</p><p>Patrick keeps calling him Dr. Rose, which he’s not sure is a result of head trauma or schnapps, but he doesn’t mind -- it’s a turn-on, actually, and they’re in the middle of a mumbly, tipsy, heated kiss, a kiss he’d like to drown in for the rest of the afternoon, when Sean and Liam come in. One of them is holding a gun and a bag of clay pigeons.</p><p>“We were gonna go shoot some skeet and you’re invited. Is this a bad time?”</p><p>David gestures at Patrick. “Does this look like a bad time?”</p><p>“No, it looks like a good time,” says one of them, then holds his hand up for a high-five, which his twin immediately delivers.</p><p>Marcy comes in with a glass of eggnog, then hisses and smacks one of the twins with a magazine. “Out! Out, no guns in the house!”</p><p>“It’s just a skeet gun--”</p><p>“Liam! Out! Go, go!” She puts her hand on her hip as they leave, shaking his head. “They’re still the death of me.” Then she looks at David and Patrick and blushes. “Oh, I didn’t even notice you two.”</p><p>They’re still tangled up in a telling way.</p><p>“Yes, hi, do we get to politely decline shooting skis or is that obligatory for a Brewer Christmas Eve?” asks David.</p><p>“Skeet,” says Patrick.</p><p>“Mm?”</p><p>Patrick kisses him between his brows. “Skeet.” Then he pops up. “It’s not obligatory but sledding is.” He gives his mom a side-hug, steadies himself on the doorway, then continues into the kitchen. “David!”</p><p>“We’re --” David falters as he passes Marcy, tugging on one of his shoes. “A little drunk.”</p><p>“Yes, everyone is.”</p><p>David nods. “Okay. Still. So sorry. Not a great look for your new son-in-law--”</p><p>“DAVID!”</p><p>“Jesus Patrick I’m coming!”</p><p>He wobbles into his other shoe and runs after his husband, who is by the back door, trying to figure out how his jacket zipper works. David zips it for him, reminding himself Patrick gets drunk faster and harder than he does.</p><p>Patrick lights up, kissing him again. “You’re so smart…”</p><p>Okay, <em> much </em>faster.</p><p>“David, will you go sledding with me?”</p><p>“Yes,” says David, tilting his head, affectionate. He tugs gently on Patrick’s scarf. “Yes, I will, because I’m just drunk enough to agree to that.”</p><p>“Great. I’m very drunk.”</p><p>“Yes, I know you are.”</p><p>“You do?” Patrick asks in genuine amazement.</p><p>“My God,” laughs David. </p><p>“I love you so much. I love you. I just, I love you, you’re so…” Patrick takes his face in his hands. “Look at your lips.”</p><p>“Okay,” David says. “<em>You </em> are too messy to be around your parents unless you want them to tease you for the rest of your life--”</p><p>“No,” says Patrick seriously.</p><p>“That’s what I thought. So. Where do we go do the sled thing?”</p><p>“I’ll show you,” says Patrick, grabbing his hand and tugging him at a breakneck pace through the door, across the porch, and toward a woodshed.</p><p>He hesitates. “<em>T</em><em>hat </em> looks like a place to get murdered.” </p><p>Patrick chuckles but ignores this, then hauls the doors open and pulls out several sleds. His cousins materialize around them and everyone grabs a sled, chuckling, drunk, egging each other on. Patrick takes David’s hand again and pulls him toward a pickup that’s waiting in the drive. </p><p>David pulls his chin back, eyes bright with alarm. “Um. Is anyone sober?”</p><p>“Nope,” says Patrick, jumping into the truck with surprising agility. He pulls David up. “But we’re driving slow.” The last cousin, niece, aunt, whoever, gets in the truck and Patrick pats the side of it so the driver pulls out. “This is great, you’ll see…”</p><p>Alana angles in as the truck plows down a skinny snowmobile track. “How is your nose?”</p><p>“Still the nose I was born with, unlike David’s--”</p><p>“Okay,” sighs David, holding him close and patting his arm. </p><p>The truck trundles along an empty, snow-swept lane. David shouldn’t be here, but he is, and his husband’s about to hurl himself and his almost-broken nose down some snowy precipice on a piece of plastic, and where is he again? Right, Killarney, Ontario, on Christmas Eve.</p><p>“Okay, there are three hills,” says Patrick. “The first one is the best because you end up on a lake and you just…”</p><p>David’s brows twitch in concern. </p><p>“Drift,” Patrick continues, dreamy.</p><p>“Okay--” </p><p>The truck hits a bump and David grabs onto him, brows twitching in concern. He doesn’t speak and Patrick melts into him, head leaning on the side of the truck, staring into the passing pines. David tries not to smile, but he likes this easy joy on his husband’s face. </p><p>Then the tires crunch on a frozen pond and David sits up. </p><p>“Um, should we be driving on--”</p><p>Several of the cousins assure him the pond is frozen solid and he nods. Patrick owes him. Really owes him. It’s below zero and he’s outside instead of in bed.</p><p>He grips Patrick’s arm until they reach the shore on the other side, then huffs. The truck grinds over a fallen tree and he shakes his head. They should have gone back to the cottage, napped and made out and made love until some unobservant cousin ruined that for them--</p><p>Patrick’s head drifts on his arm and he smiles. He smiles so hard he has to look away. Fine, maybe he likes this hellscape; maybe he likes everything his husband touches.</p><p>“Are you really going to make me do this?” he checks.</p><p>“You don’t have to,” Patrick says, genuine and loving as always.</p><p>David’s lips twitch. “No, I want to.”</p><p>The truck stops and they all pile out, David last, unsteady. He adjusts his gloves and shakes his head as they approach a cliff-bound lake, dragging sleds. There’s a moment where he almost refuses to proceed, and he knows Patrick would agree; he knows they’d return to their cottage and drift to bed after some tea, hold each other closer than close as the next storm approaches. But he also knows what this means to Patrick, and if it means anything to him, it means everything.</p><p>He slides on the ice and Patrick steadies him, slips too; they almost wipe out, then press together, silently wheezing.</p><p>“I’m so drunk...”</p><p>“So am I...”</p><p>Alana yells at them to hurry up so they do. They stop short of the first hill, which is steep, glistening with ice. </p><p>“Fuck yes,” says Patrick.</p><p>David stares at him. “Who are you?”</p><p>Patrick leans on his sled, grinning gently, then reaches to tug David’s hat more securely over his ear. </p><p>“Aight! Who’s first?” shouts the cousin nearest the edge.</p><p>“Why do I feel like we’re at a volcano sacrifice?” murmurs David.</p><p>“Oh, because we are,” says Patrick.</p><p>“Okay, as the only outsider, that concerns me.”</p><p>“You’re not an outsider, David, you’re one of us. You married me. You did that. You signed the paperwork.”</p><p>“Mhm, and if you had flashed-forward to <em> this </em>moment, I may have hesitated..”</p><p>“No, you wouldn’t have. You were all-in.”</p><p>David tries not to smile. He nods. “Yes. Yes, I was.”</p><p>Patrick stretches to kiss him, then turns and shouts, “We’ll go!”</p><p>David holds him back by his shoulders. “No. I want to see how this goes for someone else. Where’s Sean? Could we toss him in the volcano?”</p><p>But the cousins have already started to chant their names. David’s eyes widen and Patrick tugs him closer to the edge of the hill.</p><p>“Mm, okay, I was skiing once in Aspen and my boyfriend convinced me to try one of those diamond slopes, and I dislocated my knee.”</p><p>Patrick glances at him. “David, none of your boyfriends would have cared if you <em> literally </em> died, so I think that separates their judgment from mine.”</p><p>David grimaces and nods. “That’s dark. And true.”</p><p>“Trust me.”</p><p>“Unfortunately, I do.”</p><p>Patrick nods and plunks the sled down on the snow. David’s not sure how to <em>mount </em>a sled. Should he kneel on it or…? </p><p>“Hasn’t he done this before?”</p><p>“Where’s he from again?”</p><p>He glares at these cousins to shut them up, then sits on the front of the sled; he does this with as much grace as a drunk flamingo, but no one notices; they’re just one big drunk flock at this point. </p><p>Patrick sits behind him and wraps his arms around him tight. He’s about to ask what happens if they hit a tree, but then the cousins grab the sled and start to push it.</p><p>“Okay, this isn’t the fucking luge--” </p><p>His voice dies as they plunge over the precipice. He lets out a yelpy half-shout and covers his face. The first few seconds are pure terror; no sled should go this fast, this far; no one should sled down an incline like <em>this</em>. The cousins’ distant cheering disappears and he can only hear the rush of the wind, the hiss of the sled on the snow -- oh, and Patrick, who’s clearly delighted, just <em>shouting</em>. </p><p>“Mm, no no no, don’t like this, don’t like this--”</p><p>“Open your eyes, David!”</p><p>Of course Patrick knows he shut his eyes first thing.</p><p>“Mmnno--” He clenches his jaw and opens his eyes as the sled shifts to a gentler slope; time seems to slow and he gasps a shaky, astounded breath. “Oh my God…”</p><p>They’re drifting on an endless frozen lake; the ice blends with the sky on the horizon, pale blue, and for one dreamlike moment, it feels like they’re flying. </p><p>He softens, leaning against Patrick, and Patrick hums, hugging him as the sled finally spools to a stop in the middle of the lake. They hold still for a moment.</p><p>“Oh my God,” David repeats in a murmur.</p><p>“I told you,” says Patrick.</p><p>David glances at him over his shoulder, eyes bright with affection, and he nods. “Okay,” he says, very softly. “This is...this is kind of magical.”</p><p>Patrick smiles, barely containing himself. “Yeah. Isn’t it?”</p><p>David nods again, sitting up, and stares around the empty lake. He shakes his head, stunned by the silence, and Patrick nuzzles closer. They stay here for a brilliant, breathless moment.</p><p>Then Patrick says, “Now we just have to hike back.”</p><p>David glances behind them and pops his brows. They’ve slid so far that his cousins are specks in the distance.</p><p>“<em>Oh</em>,” he breathes. “We have to…”</p><p>“Yeah, this is kind of a one-time thing, because it’s about a kilometer back. Also, we have about a minute before we get hit by another sled, so--”</p><p>David pops up and grabs Patrick, who laughs at his urgency. He trots over the ice, looking at the hill, ensuring they aren’t about to be side-swept; Patrick pulls the sled by the handle and they head for the edge of the lake.</p><p>“Think I remember where the path is,” mumbles Patrick.</p><p>“You <em>think</em>? Are you going to make me blindly wander the woods until we find something you recognize?”</p><p>“Pretty much, David.”</p><p>He leans his head back, resigned, and nods. “Next year--”</p><p>“Glad I haven’t traumatized you so much you’re still planning on next year.”</p><p>David looks at him, lips twitching in amusement, and takes his hand. “<em>Next </em>year,” he whispers. “We’re staying home.”</p><p>Patrick nods. “We can switch back and forth.”</p><p>David’s too tipsy to resist. “Well, we’re good at that.”</p><p>“Dav--” Patrick stops, laughing. “David."</p><p>David smirks, satisfied, and twitches his thumb over Patrick’s knuckles. Then he gestures at the woods. “So, is it really a kilometer or--”</p><p>“Maybe more,” Patrick says bracingly.</p><p>They step off the lake and into the trees and Patrick starts to search for a path. David’s not sure what he’s looking for considering the forest is blanketed in thick, impenetrable snow. Then Patrick looks into the branches and points at a faint yellow mark, made with spray-paint.</p><p>“There we go.”</p><p>David frowns, not sure if he’s impressed with his husband’s detective skills or disturbed. </p><p>“There we go what?”</p><p>“That’s the trail marker,” says Patrick. “But I have an idea.”</p><p>David presses his lips together. “Okay. We are too drunk to improvise a route back to the house and I am <em> very </em> cold.”</p><p>Patrick turns to grin over his shoulder. It’s a flirty, over-confident grin that David usually sees in a very different context.</p><p>“I thought you trusted me.”</p><p>“Um. I trust you when you’re sober.”</p><p>“Okay, but you’re also drunk, so shouldn’t drunk-you trust drunk-me?”</p><p>David nods, trying not to laugh. “Mhm. Your drunk logic is very good.”</p><p>“I know, I amaze myself--”</p><p>“Okay,” laughs David, catching up to put an arm around his waist.</p><p>“You’re going to love this,” Patrick adds.</p><p>“Dying of hypothermia on Christmas?”</p><p>“Apparently that’s a good way to go. And no…” He pushes a branch aside and slides with David to a frozen stream. He starts up this as if it’s a path. “I know a place.”</p><p>“A <em> place </em>?” </p><p>Patrick squeezes his hand in response. He slips on the ice and steadies himself on Patrick, then blinks as the trees start to thin and the ground slopes lower. After a moment, a farmhouse emerges in a clearing, the chimney puffing smoke. Several rusty-colored cows dot the snow and a cattle dog bounds through the field, barking at them as they approach.</p><p>David falters. “Um.”</p><p>“I’ll deal with the allergies later.”</p><p>“That is not what I’m concerned about.”</p><p>An old woman is standing on the porch with a rifle. David steps back, but Patrick waves. </p><p>“It’s Patrick!” he hollers.</p><p>The woman brightens. “Who’s your friend?” </p><p>“This is David!” he shouts.</p><p>The woman nods, whistles at the dog so it turns back, then waves them on and disappears inside.</p><p>“Who...”</p><p>“My grandma. Mom’s mom.”</p><p>“I have to meet your <em>grandmother </em>like this?” he asks, gesturing at himself to indicate his tipsy state. He knows how important Patrick’s grandma is to him. How formative she was for his life and his music. Then he frowns. “She knows, right?”</p><p>“Yeah, of course,” says Patrick, walking between two cows. </p><p>David grits his teeth and hurries after him, then squeaks in terror as a cow noses him. Patrick pats it and shoulders it away.</p><p>“Go on, go, thatta girl…”</p><p>The cow listens and David’s eyes widen. </p><p>“Why are you from here?” he breathes. </p><p>They reach the porch and slip up the icy stairs, then step inside the cabin, which smells like bacon, coffee, and cigarette smoke. There’s a pair of snowshoes on the wall, next to a taxidermied goose and a set of cast iron pans. David lingers near the door, studying Patrick’s grandmother, who’s adjusting some metal contraption. She looks just like Marcy, but her hair is white, fashioned into a thick white braid. </p><p>“David,” she says suddenly. “I like that name. Good strong name.”</p><p>David’s not sure what to do with this. “Thank...you.” </p><p>“Wasn’t expecting to meet you till tomorrow,” she adds. “I never go to the big house on Christmas Eve.” She waves this off. “Too rowdy.”</p><p>“Mm, wise woman,” says David.</p><p>She chuckles and looks at Patrick, then frowns. “Oh. Son. What happened there?”</p><p>“Oh, Sean hit me in the face with a snowball.”</p><p>She shakes her head. “Like I said.” She looks at them. “You boys look like you could use some coffee.”</p><p>“<em>Yes</em>,” says David, relieved, adding with a gesture at the metal-claw thing on her counter, “Um, what is that?”</p><p>“You never seen a beaver trap before?”</p><p>Patrick joins them. “Don’t scare him off, nana.”</p><p>She barks a laugh. “But that’s what I do best.” She looks at them again and leans with both her hands on the kitchen counter. “You know something, David? Patrick’s my favorite grandkid. So don’t fuck this up.”</p><p>“Oh my God. I wasn’t planning to.”</p><p>She nods and reaches to pull a pot of coffee off the stove. “Then we’ll get along just fine.” She pours them each a cup and adds more gently, “When I heard the person Patrick was marrying <em> wasn’t </em> Rachel, I just about danced.” She shakes her head and takes a pie down from the cupboard. “Loved that girl. But. Well, we all knew.”</p><p>“Oh, did we?” asks David.</p><p>“Oh, it’s obvious when someone’s in love,” she replies. “And when someone’s not.” She passes the coffee out. “I’m just glad you two found each other in -- where is it?”</p><p>“Schitt’s Creek?” </p><p>She snorts. “What were they thinking?”</p><p>“Oh, if you think the name’s bad, you should have seen the road sign…”</p><p>Patrick catches David’s gaze, smiling at this easy exchange, and David smiles too. His grandma slides two plates of pie toward them, then lights a cigarette and clamps it in her back teeth. She gestures at a breakfast nook, urging them to sit down, then removes a cat from her chair and tosses it unceremoniously outside.</p><p>Patrick sneezes, then groans and touches his nose. “Ow.”</p><p>“Would have de-catted the place if I knew you were coming,” she says, adding some sugar to her coffee. “You sled here?”</p><p>Patrick nods. “Yeah, was hoping to borrow a snowmobile so we don’t have to walk back.”</p><p>“Maybe if you sober up.”</p><p>He laughs. “Ah. Is it that obvious?”</p><p>“No, but there’s no way you aren’t loaded. Not if Marcy made her famous hot cocoa.”</p><p>“Oh, she did,” David says regretfully. “And Clint made Irish coffee. And there was a bloody mary at some point…”</p><p>“Yeah, two actually, first thing this morning,” says Patrick. “Because David didn’t want to spend the day with my cousins.”</p><p>“Who does?” asks his grandmother.</p><p>“Thank you!” says David. “<em>I </em> wanted to sleep in.”</p><p>“No you didn’t,” mutters Patrick. </p><p>His grandma snorts in appreciation. David stares at him, almost laughing, then nudges his cup closer to him. </p><p>“Drink this before you scandalize your grandmother.”</p><p>“Oh, nothing can scandalize me at this point, honey. You don’t have six children, two husbands, and four lovers to end up scandalized.”</p><p>“Oh my God,” David murmurs.</p><p>This lady is undeniably his favorite Brewer. Well, besides Patrick. </p><p>She puffs on her cigarette, then gestures at Patrick with it. “You still playing guitar?”</p><p>Patrick smiles. “Yeah, of course.”</p><p>“Good, you should be.” She eyes David and points at him. “Hope you know how lucky you are to have a personal songster whenever you want one.” She smiles. “You know, he called me, years ago. He said he was going to play a song for someone. Asked me how not to be nervous. And I told him, I said, Patrick, if you’re not nervous, then you’re not human. Imagine singing to the person you love, in front of everyone!”</p><p>“Um, no, imagine being sung <em> to </em> by the person you love, in front of everyone, in your store.” David pauses. “He called you?”</p><p>“Yes he did, and he didn’t say who the song was for. But he always talked about you. Couldn’t shut up about you, actually, and I asked him, I said, is this David? Longest pause in the world.” She laughs. “I thought I overstepped.”</p><p>David glances at Patrick, who’s looking at him in a tender, touched way. He presses his lips together, suddenly shaky with affection.</p><p>“And he said...I haven’t told mom and dad yet. And I said...Patrick, the only person you need to tell is David.”</p><p>David shakes his head, almost sniffling, looking from Patrick to her. “That...that is...one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever heard.”</p><p>She smiles firmly and reaches to squeeze his hand. “Well. Welcome to the family.” She glances outside. “I should let you go before it storms again.” She eyes her grandson. “Don’t crash my snowmobile."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>David and Patrick arrive at the main house as the sun is setting, just in time to change clothes, wolf down two turkey sandwiches, and walk hand in hand toward the lake. They take their time, walking behind a pickup truck filled with kindling, and the sun shifts in the pines to spill gold over the snowy path.</p><p>They glance at each other, brushing thumbs. </p><p>“Is this a normal bonfire or is there an insane Brewer twist on it?” murmurs David.</p><p>“Normal bonfire,” Patrick assures him. </p><p>David nods, lips dancing as he tries not to smile. He wants this man the way he did the day they met, and sometimes this staggers him; sometimes his heart skips the same beat it did when they first met eyes.</p><p>“Mhm. And we’re going to stay just long enough to be polite.”</p><p>“That’s right,” says Patrick.</p><p>“Good,” says David, squeezing his hand a little tighter.</p><p>They’ve spent all day together but David wants more. He always does, and always has. Early on, he’d return to the motel after a day with Patrick and wish he had lingered one more minute; wish he had one more excuse to draw the day out; wish they could have stayed in the store all night. Today is the same. He doesn’t want it to end until he reminds himself they’ll go home together, wake up together. </p><p>That they’ll do that for the rest of their lives. </p><p>He looks down, about to speak, but Patrick beats him to it.</p><p>“Where d’you think we’ll be in 25 years?”</p><p>David laughs. “Mm. On Christmas?”</p><p>“Sure.”</p><p>David leans on him. “Maybe the Maldives--”</p><p>Patrick chuckles. “No, really.”</p><p>David turns and kisses the side of his head. “Home. Reading in bed.”</p><p>“Well, I’d be reading, you would be drinking coffee and debating whether you should sleep another hour.”</p><p>David laughs again, nodding. “Mhm. And we’d stay there all morning because the house would feel too quiet.”</p><p>“Hm? Why’s that, David?”</p><p>“Like you aren’t going to bring home a baby one day --”</p><p>Patrick laughs and shakes his head. “Hey, no, that would be a big conversation. Conversations. Many, for years.”</p><p>“Yes, until you wear me down,” David says, but he smiles. “Okay. Until I admit I don’t hate the idea.”</p><p>“So the house would feel too quiet,” Patrick continues. “So we’d get up and I would make pancakes…”</p><p>“Mhm, and we wouldn’t even make it to the table…”</p><p>“No,” Patrick laughs. “No, we’d eat them all in the kitchen, leaning on the counter like we used to at my apartment…”</p><p>“Mm,” agrees David, eyes sparkling with warmth as they navigate some steps to the lake’s edge. “And then you would take a walk…”</p><p>“I would, and you’d call everyone.”</p><p>“Mhm, Stevie, Alexis, my parents, your parents, our daughter--”</p><p>“Oh, daughter.” Patrick glances at him. “You think our parents will still be around?”</p><p>“I hope so,” murmurs David. “But, um, if they aren’t, we’d...we’d do something that reminds us of them.”</p><p>Patrick nods. “So you’d sing <em>the</em> <em>number</em> and…”</p><p>David laughs and shakes his head, then squeezes his husband’s hand. “No. Maybe. Yes. And then it wouldn’t feel too quiet.”</p><p>Patrick breathes in. “I love you, David.”</p><p>David nods and smiles. “I love you.”</p><p>They continue along the lake, then sit on a log as the others build a fire. They lean on each other and look over the lake as little cousins skate on the ice. David glances down, one of Patrick’s hands in both of his, and uncurls his fingers to follow his love-line. He smirks and breathes in, then nuzzles him above his ear.</p><p>He’s about to speak, but the fire sparks and the others cheer. He glances up, watching the flames climb the branches in the blink of an eye. The firelight dances on the lake, glinting on the kids’ ice skates, and a flock of geese whirls overhead, honking. Patrick smiles and rests his chin on David’s shoulder.</p><p>“Thanks for coming with me.”</p><p>“I wasn’t going to spend this Christmas without you.”</p><p>“You did complain a lot on the drive.”</p><p>“That’s because I didn’t sleep.”</p><p>Patrick chuckles and leans to press a lingering kiss to the side of his mouth. David’s lips twitch, happy, and he turns so his nose connects with Patrick’s temple.</p><p>“I’m actually not spending any Christmas without you, so…”</p><p>“Even if I want to visit your parents in L.A.? Because you did vow to never go back there.”</p><p>David nods. “Even then.”</p><p>The sun slips beyond the horizon and David watches as Marcy and Alana wheel in a tray of drinks and fondue. He kisses Patrick’s ear, then squeezes his leg so he stays seated; he hops up, joining Marcy.</p><p>“How was ice fishing?” she asks, arranging some bread and apple slices by the fondue.</p><p>“Oh, we skipped that, Patrick took me on this secret path to your mom’s house…” He tries a bite of fondue and moans. “Mmgod...” </p><p>She laughs. “I hope my mom didn’t say anything too untoward.” </p><p>“Oh, she didn’t, but she clearly has the potential to,” says David, taking two eggnogs from the tray. He’s about to turn away, but he pauses. “Um.” He shakes his head, unsure how to express the messy thought that just popped into his head. “I hope...I hope you and Clint know that this is forever for me.”</p><p>Marcy gently lifts her brows.</p><p>“Patrick,” David clarifies. “Um. I see how much you all love him and I hope you know I -- I love him that much.” He swallows, nods, and sniffles. “Um, I’ve actually <em> only </em> loved him, so…”</p><p>Marcy chuckles. “David. We know. We were at your wedding.”</p><p>“Okay. I actually know you know, but I needed to say it.”</p><p>She tilts her head and smiles. “Thank you, David.”</p><p>He nods and returns to sit with Patrick. He hands him an eggnog and glances into his eyes with the faintest smirk.</p><p>“What were you two talking about?” Patrick murmurs.</p><p>“How much I love you.”</p><p>Patrick laughs. “No, really.”</p><p>David presses his lips together. “No. Really.” </p><p>Patrick breathes in. “Oh.” Then he huffs, amused and in love, and leans closer. He touches his nose to David’s, then winces. “Right. Can’t--”</p><p>“No nose.”</p><p>“No nose,” he agrees.</p><p>They laugh and kiss gently, then look toward the fire as a chorus of <em> Song for a Winter’s Night </em>starts up. Several of Patrick’s cousins have pulled out instruments and several others have started to sing. David glances at him with a slight smile.</p><p>“Do you want to join in or...?”</p><p>Patrick softly shakes his head, leaning into another kiss. David smiles on his lips, then tugs him closer by his waist, and they lose themselves for the rest of the song. David pulls back as the song changes.</p><p>“I can’t kiss you to something that’s part of <em> the number </em>.”</p><p>“Ah,” says Patrick, nodding as his cousins start an unusually boisterous version of <em> God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen</em>. “Understandable.”</p><p>“Mhm, I did that in front of you, <em> early </em> in our relationship, and you still married me.”</p><p>“It wasn’t that early.”</p><p>“Well, it was too early. If seeing someone naked is an intimate step, singing like <em> that</em>, with your mother, is…”</p><p>“Oh, beyond naked.”</p><p>David nods. “Mhm. Yes. Speaking of…”</p><p>“Should I tell them this isn’t good make-out music?”</p><p>“Please do not do that,” laughs David.</p><p>Patrick laughs too, then shakes his head and kisses David gently. He squeezes his waist and gets up, approaching Alana, who’s holding a fiddle. He leans to mumble something and she grins, nods, and gestures at the others. David waits, suspicious, and watches Patrick as he returns.</p><p>“What did you--”</p><p>
  <em> Do do doop dum...d</em>
  <em>o do doop do doop da dum </em>
</p><p>David softens, almost annoyed how in love he is. “Okay. You -- why do they know this song?”</p><p>“I may have asked them to practice it,” says Patrick. “Months ago. Right after I married you, actually--”</p><p>“Oh my God.”</p><p>
  <em> No, you'll always be a part of me/</em>
  <em>I'm part of you indefinitely/</em>
  <em>Boy don't you know you can't escape me/</em>
  <em>Oh darlin' 'cause you'll always be my baby...</em>
</p><p>“They’re harmonizing,” says David in alarm.</p><p>“Yeah, like I said. Months ago. They’ve worked on this.”</p><p>David nods, so stunned he can barely move. “So…” He gestures, briefly closing his eyes, and swallows. “So your family cares about us so much that they…”</p><p>“Learned a Mariah song half of them had never heard? Yes.”</p><p>“Mhm.” David nods. “For tonight.”</p><p>“Yes. This was...my gift for you.” He lifts his gaze into David’s. “D’you want to dance?”</p><p>David glances down and chuckles through a teary grin. He nods, breathing in to steady himself. “Um, yes.” He nods harder. "Yes.” </p><p>Patrick grins and pulls him to his feet, then takes him further from the fire. David laughs, slipping into a familiar sway as they hold each other close. Patrick tucks against him and he hugs him as they dance.</p><p>“My gift is...it’s not this good,” David informs him.</p><p>Patrick chuckles, nuzzling his shoulder before lifting his face for a kiss. “What’s your gift, David?”</p><p>“It’s at home. You’ll see.”</p><p>Patrick nods, leaning into a hug again. David slides his hands down his back, then holds him closer. </p><p>
  <em> And we'll linger on/</em>
  <em>Time can't erase a feelin' this strong/</em>
  <em>No way, you're never gonna shake me</em>
</p><p>David laughs, too giddy to stay silent, too in love to speak. Patrick rests on him, breathing out, and they dance like they did at their wedding -- sleepy but carried away, completely captivated.</p><p>
  <em> Oh darlin' cause you'll always be my baby...do do doop….do do doop do doop da dum… </em>
</p><p>Patrick glances up. “Merry Christmas, David.”</p><p>David shakes his head, overwhelmed. “Merry Christmas, Patrick."</p>
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